


the vagaries of love

by prosodiical



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Skin Hunger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 07:37:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4697723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/pseuds/prosodiical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal hasn't touched anyone in three years. (It's not until Will kisses him that he falls apart.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the vagaries of love

**Author's Note:**

> I had so many feels from that finale - Hannibal and Will are in such a perfect place with each other right now, it's amazing, so I just had to write something. (This is basically an excuse for porn.)

Hannibal hasn't touched anyone in three years.

It isn't obvious. Will thinks there's nothing about Hannibal that's obvious, except for the change in his expression when he looks at Will, the way his touch lingers over his skin. It could be nothing or it could be everything, and when Hannibal runs the sponge over Will's bare shoulder, wiping away the blood, Will reaches out and catches his wrist before he moves to rinse it away.

Hannibal meets his gaze, and Will runs his thumb over the inside of Hannibal's wrist, the soft delicate skin and the worn scar that runs straight across. They've both made marks on one another, but this one is a brand - a reminder to Hannibal, and to himself. He can't miss the slight dilation of Hannibal's pupils, not when they're so close, and Will feels an uncertain, heady rush of power that makes him say, "Bedelia said you were in love with me."

There is no missing Hannibal's reaction, however minuscule; Will feels like a tuning fork, resonating at his frequency. "And what do you believe?"

"I," Will says. Hannibal's face is as smooth as stone, but Will can almost hear the tense of his muscles as Will reaches up, his hand on Hannibal's jaw. Hannibal's face is still under his questing fingers, trailing to the deepened lines around his eyes and smoothing his hair behind his ear, and Will thinks that if Hannibal were anyone else, he would be trembling. "I think," Will says, instead, and smiles. "Your compassion for me is sometimes... inconvenient."

Hannibal's mouth twitches. "Yes," he says, a curious glint in his eyes. "But I would not give it up for that."

Bedelia had once told Will he had not seen the man behind the veil of Hannibal's self; it is wrong, Will thinks, that she did not see the man she knew was a veil of its own. He bends his head and says, words halting in his throat, "And my compassion for you."

"Also inconvenient," Hannibal murmurs, and Will laughs. Hannibal reaches out like he has been all night, the touch of his fingers feather-light against Will's jaw. "Will."

It is the restraint in his touch despite the hungry yearning in his expression, despite the coiling tension in his body that makes Will smile. "Yes," he says. 

Hannibal's eyebrows pull together, and he says, almost halting, "Will?"

"I'm not made of glass," Will says. He leans forward as he says it, achingly slow and careful, and watches with fascination as Hannibal's eyelids flutter closed, the shadows of his lashes over his cheeks as Will presses their foreheads together, close enough they're breathing the same air. "Yes," he repeats, barely a whisper, "you can touch me."

Breath leaving him in a quiet rush, Hannibal opens his eyes. They're so close Will can see the flecks of color in his irises as Hannibal's hand slips to the back of his neck, like and so unlike the many times he's done it before; there's a tight tension resonating through him that makes Will's heartbeat race like an echo. "You," Hannibal says, but as his lips form the next word, something like a question, Will closes the hairsbreadth between them and kisses him.

Will isn't made of glass but Hannibal still hesitates before he threads his fingers through Will's hair, still seems on the edge of of a precipice as Will tilts his head and pulls him close. It might be touch or it might be him; it might be the way Will runs his tongue along the edge of Hannibal's teeth or the way Will reels him in with a hand tightening on his hip or it might just be the way Hannibal loves him, the naked longing desire made real that breaks Hannibal's impasse with himself as the air shudders out of his lungs. "Will," Hannibal says, as fervent as a prayer, and Will catches his words with his mouth, losing it in the space between them, narrowed to nothing as Hannibal wraps an arm around Will and pulls their bodies together like he wants to crawl inside Will's skin, as he kisses back like all he wants to do is consume him.

It takes the breath out of Will, to be wanted. It makes him clutch at Hannibal like he's drowning, the way Hannibal stares at him, pupils blown wide like Will is something he never thought he would have, something beautiful and unique and seen and loved. It makes Will's heart ache when Hannibal gasps nearly a sob at Will's touch, at Will's mouth sucking bruises into his throat, at Will's hands carefully unbuttoning his shirt and mapping the ropey scars across his back. Hannibal's voice is a litany of Will's name, over and over, almost cracking in its terrified, helpless wonder and Will whispers, "Ssh, ssh," like he's calming a frightened animal, like he's soothing him to tears.

Hannibal hasn't touched anyone in three years and it's obvious. There's a quiet desperation to his touch, to the way he pulls Will to him skin to skin like he won't ever let go. Will presses him against the countertop and Hannibal buries his face in Will's shoulder, breathless and trembling and wanting, and all Will can do is give all he has. He presses kisses to Hannibal's hair and the ridge of his ear, the soft skin of his neck and shoulder, the line of his jaw that he can reach as he reaches down between them and Hannibal raises his head to stare at him, his hair falling in his face and his eyes alight, and breathe, "Will, I - "

"I know," Will says, and Hannibal smiles, so unbound and genuine that Will has to taste it on his lips, taste it in his mouth and through the feel of Hannibal's heart racing, pounding in sync with Will's own, taste it in the soft intake of Hannibal's breath as they rock against each other, a pace made frantic and desperate, their last chance at the end of the world. Will presses a fluttering kiss against Hannibal's nose and whispers, "I see you," against his lips and it's the sheer unguarded emotion in Hannibal's gaze, love and longing and possessiveness and understanding as he gasps and stills that sends Will over the edge as well, his low groan caught and swallowed by Hannibal's warm, hungry mouth. Will stays there for a long moment, his forehead against Hannibal's own and their breaths intermingling as they slow, his fingers entangled with Hannibal's own, and knows there's no going back for him now, if there ever was before.

"Will," Hannibal says, as Will exhales shakily, and there's a unmistakable affection in his voice, in his eyes when Will meets his gaze. "I see you."

The Dragon is coming, their future is uncertain, and the worst and best thing in Will's world is that it's true.

"Yes," Will says, "I know."


End file.
